


honey, i can't be your saviour

by butterugh (urieskooki)



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Break Up, M/M, Time Skips, Unrequited Love, brief mention of nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urieskooki/pseuds/butterugh
Summary: If there was one big mistake Jackson could completely erase from his life, it would likely be meeting Namjoon.





	honey, i can't be your saviour

**Author's Note:**

> this is um.......... i wrote most of this awhile back and then finished it off this week. idk why i wrote it lol it made me sad ahah

“Hey.” A deep voice rumbles by Jackson’s ear, alerting him to another presence in the room that he hadn’t even noticed in his pinpointed concentration. He lets himself fall to the ground, hands uncurling from their vice-like grip on the bar running the length of the room. Fingers stiff and muscles aching, he ducks to pick up a towel to sling around his neck to soak up some of the sweat still slipping down his skin.

Jackson is a creature of habit; When he starts something, he won’t stop until he’s done.

Namjoon hates the smell of sweat.

“What’s up?” Namjoon doesn’t often come in while he’s working out, which must mean it’s important.

“Nothing…” Namjoon sighs, tugging at the neckline of his droopy shirt before he shakes his head, lifts it again with some kind of renewed energy. “Well, actually. Something  _ is _ up. You’ve been down here for hours, and when you asked me if I wanted to hang out, I didn’t think that meant me watching a movie  _ alone  _ while you pumped iron. This isn’t a real date.”

Jackson knows it’s not. He’s guilty as hell because he knows he shouldn’t have left but they’d been half an hour in when the itch of restlessness had started, and he’d had to excuse himself.

_ (‘Bathroom’, he’d said by way of explanation and Namjoon, enraptured, hadn’t glanced up as he took his arm back from where it had been curled around Jackson’s thigh). _

He’d had to excuse himself and it was no wonder that he ended up in his weights room. He’d barely even noticed the time pass in the steady beat of his heart in his ribs.

It’s like one of Namjoon’s better songs (and they’re all good, but some of them seem to echo Jackson’s nerves right down to their endings). The ones that Jackson  _ feels  _ more than hears, is completely overtaken by to the point where it’s difficult to even talk while he’s listening.

“I’m. God, Namjoonie, I’m sorry.” Jackson chews his lip, “I didn’t mean to.”

_ I didn’t mean to,  _ is never the right answer. It’s never the right thing to say because everything about it screams  _ excuse,  _ but Jackson doesn’t know how else to convey that he’d meant to come back up, but then he’d caught sight of his barbells.

It’d all gone to shit from there.

“This isn’t a real date.” Namjoon repeats, brushing Jackson’s damp hair away from his face. “Come upstairs and we can make it one, yeah?”

_ I haven’t finished my reps.  _

Jackson nods and takes Namjoon’s hand, lets himself be tugged back upstairs and onto the couch where the only thing undone is them.

 

They met at a wedding. Namjoon had been tugging the starched white collar of his shirt away from his neck, loosening the tie Yoongi had insisted he wear. 

Jackson was awkwardly hovering - despite the hundred or so people littering the venue, he didn’t feel much like socialising like he usually would. Maybe he’d just been having a bad day.

(Maybe it was the man Jooheon had hugged during the ceremony, pressed his face into his shoulder to mop up the tears that were inevitably going to fall. Jackson had to look away for fear he might cry himself, but not at all because of the ceremony)

Then he’d spotted Namjoon, the beauty leaned against the wall with an undrunk flute of champagne and a little paper plate, empty save for crumbs and a crumpled up napkin.

“Hey.” Jackson smiled the smile he knew made people blush, smiled so widely his eyes crumpled up. “Who’re you here with?”

“Um. Friend of the groom. Yourself?” The man’s eyes drifted over to where Yoongi was seated next to his brand new husband, and Jackson’s own follow.

“Friend of a friend of the groom.” Jackson replied quietly, watching Jooheon grin, ruffling Kihyun’s impeccably styled hair. “Did you ever think they’d get hitched?”

“It was a surprise, that’s for sure.” The man said and they laughed.

“Jackson Wang.” He offered with his hand, watched the man try to juggle his plate and champagne before he finally took it.

“Kim Namjoon.” His new companion replied with a flash of a dimpled,  _ gorgeous  _ smile, and they’d barely met, didn’t know each other further than their names and why they were there - but Jackson knew he was so fucked.

 

_ “Shit,  _ Namjoonie.” Jackson gasps, rocking back, “Shit, you’re so good.”

When he comes his body stiffens, back so rigid he wonders if he’ll end up stuck like that before he loosens, falls forward onto his hands. It’s almost difficult to stop, even though Namjoon is still jerking with aftershocks under him. Still pressing up into him.

It’s almost difficult to stop because he feels so good he could almost float right out of his body through the top of his head into the plethora of bright colours and flashing lights waiting for him. He doesn’t want that to end, because when the euphoria wears off, he’ll be back to greyscale. Back to blankness.

He keeps pushing until his whole body trembles and aches, and he’s crying, and Namjoon is easing him up with a whispered,  _ ‘stop, Jackson, baby, you’re okay, you’re okay.’ _

 

_ “Stop.”  _ Namjoon shoves Jackson’s hands off his shoulders, “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pretend we’re fine like you always do. I’m not like you! I can’t. I can’t handle people -”

“Fuck what people have to say about us, Namjoonie, they don’t matter.” Jackson reaches down again and Namjoon shakes his head.

_ “I’m not like you, Jackson!”  _ Namjoon explodes, taking a big step back. The chasm between them widens and no matter how much of a runup Jackson has there’s no way he can clear it on his own. Not without Namjoon offering his hands too. “People  _ matter _ to me! Everything matters! If you hadn’t been off with Jooheon you’d know what I mean, but you weren’t fucking there for me so you have no idea! You have no  _ idea  _ how bad the shit they said hurt because.  _ You. Weren’t. There! _ ”

“Were you…” The idea dawns on Jackson slowly, raises it’s head above the horizon. “Were you jealous? Of Jooheon?”

“How could I not be? You’re still in love with him, aren’t you? I was a goddamn _ coping mechanism _ because you can’t handle being left alone with your emotions, so you put them into me instead and called them a relationship.” There are tears in Namjoon’s eyes, big and glossy, and Jackson can do nothing but watch them fall. “I can’t be his replacement anymore.”

“You’re not, baby. You’re not.” Jackson holds his arms out and can physically see the fight to keep to himself written all over Namjoon’s face. “Sweetheart, you’re nobody’s replacement - I love  _ you.  _ I don’t have any feelings for Jooheon anymore, I swear.”

“If there’s one thing I thought you’d never do to me, Jackson,” Namjoon mutters on his way out, scrubbing the tender lilac of his eyebags. “It’s lie to my damn face. But you’ve always managed to surprise me.”

 

To begin with, Namjoon had simply been a distraction.

From Jooheon. From unrequited feelings he wanted so badly to forget. It was everything Namjoon said it was and more, because he was hurting so much that he thought the only thing he could do was pretend. Jooheon had slowly but surely become Jackson’s sun, and for awhile he thought he could be his moon in return. But then Jooheon had found his moon in the form of Im Changkyun.

So Jackson narrowed in on another star in the sky and got as close to it as he could to make it his own sun instead.

Namjoon was perfect for the role - the smooth golden skin and gentle smile that Jackson hardly had to even pretend was breathtaking, because eventually he became that anyway.

 

He calls Namjoon as often as his schedule allows, schedules date after date, desperately, and Namjoon lets him. Smiles when he picks him up and kisses his cheek when he drops him home again. It’s what Jackson needs.

Jackson has always been a creature of habit, always, and so when the habit forms to take Namjoon out on weekends, it sticks. Namjoon stops asking if he’s going to come by, but is always ready when he does.

And somewhere along the line it stops being about hanging Namjoon off his arm, parading this beautiful boy around because he wants him to be seen. It stops being about appearances at all. Then it’s just them, in their boxers on Jackson’s sofa, legs slung over laps and arms around necks, the weight of Namjoon’s head on his shoulder.

The first time Namjoon tells Jackson he loves him, Jackson is able to kiss him and say it back in all honesty.

It’s not about getting over Jooheon anymore. It’s about what Namjoon looks like under the moonlight, grasping at Jackson’s cheap sheets and love dripping honeylike from his mouth.

 

“Joonie.” Jackson sits outside a familiar door, knuckles pressed against the wood. “Joonie, open the door.”

His throat is raw, eyes swollen, nose dripping, but he can do nothing more than swipe his sleeve under his jaw and keep knocking.

“Joonie, please.”

He is a creature of habit, yes, and loving Namjoon has become more than that.

 

“I love you.” Namjoon sighs, as if admitting this fact is signing away his soul, and sits down heavily on the other side of the hall, knees tucked underneath his chin, “And I know you love me too. But at the end of the day I’m always going to be competing against  _ him.  _ I’m past the point in my life where I take things I don’t deserve because I think that’s all I’m worth. I’m worth being with someone who loves me just as much as I love them.”

He has a little velvet box in his hands, turning it over and over again. “Once, I thought it was your finger I’d put this on. It’s my mother’s - she wanted me to give it to someone special, and I really did think it was going to be you.

Jackson, still crumpled against the wall beside Namjoon’s door, swallows down the bile rising at the back of his throat, on the verge of reaching out to hold onto Namjoon’s ankle as if that alone will stop him eventually leaving. Because that’s what this is. It’s a goodbye.

“I desperately wanted it to be you too.” He smiles, sadly, and tucks it in the front pocket of his hoodie. “Jackson.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, eyes burning, mouth parting, “What is it, Joonie?”

“Did you ever really love me?” Eyes glistening with unshed tears, Namjoon looks down the endless stretch of hall on their right, watches a family bustle out of an apartment, oblivious.

“Baby, baby _ , _ of course I did. I still  _ do. _ ” Their hands entwine between them, pressed palm to palm, Jackson’s own sweaty and slipping, Namjoon’s cool and dry.

And Namjoon smiles that gorgeous dimpled smile of his, the one that had made Jackson’s breath hitch the first time they met. Pushes up on his knees to give Jackson one last kiss on the cheek, lips lingering, cheeks wet where they’re pressed together, before he draws back and walks into his apartment again.

 

“You know,” Jooheon starts over his cup of coffee, head cocked to one side, “You seem a lot happier now. Before Kihyun’s wedding you seemed really… I dunno, down? Then you met that guy and suddenly wham bam! You’re laughing easier again.”

Jackson flushes, but it’s different to how it once might have been. It’s becoming easier and easier to stay unburned under the force of Jooheon’s smile.

“I… Namjoonie’s good for me. He keeps me out of ruts when I get bad. When I can’t  _ stop. _ ” He prods at a grain of sugar on the countertop, “Maybe he’s  _ too _ good for me.”

Jooheon reaches over to still his hand, holds it against the formica. Jackson looks up into Jooheon’s soft eyes.

“When I look at Changkyun, I see someone I don’t think I’m worthy of in the slightest.” He mumbles, honest yet shy, “I see him and I think he’s gonna… wake up one day and realise he deserves better. He’s not gonna want me anymore. But you know what? He hasn’t yet.”

“What’re you trying to say there, Jooheonie?”

Jooheon’s face falls into one of vague irritation, glaring at Jackson as if he’s the stupidest person he’s ever come into contact with. He reaches out to poke him in the nose, “I’m  _ saying _ that you’re just insecure. That doesn’t mean any of these feelings you’re having are warranted, you big dumb idiot. I’ve seen the disgusting way you both look at each other - emphasis on  _ both,  _ because he looks at you like you hung the fuckin’ sun in the sky.”

“Really?”

“Really. Stop stressing out about this shit. He loves you.”

“He, um, he was a replacement at first.” Jackson doesn’t know why he says it, only knows that he has to. “I used being with him as a way to get over someone else.”

Frowning, Jooheon retreats back to his own side of the table, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I, uh. Used him. We met at Yoongi and Kihyun’s wedding and… I just. I just thought he’d make me feel okay again.” He pushes the grain of sugar around again, around and around in a tiny circle.

Jooheon swears under his breath. “Does he know?”

“What?”

“Does he know? It’s not a hard question, Jackson, so just answer it.  _ Does he know you are using him?” _

“Use _ -d _ ! I’m not anymore. I really love him, so it’s fine. It all worked out in the end.” Jackson smiles weakly, guilt curling in his gut the longer Jooheon fixes him with that stare.

“Answer the damn question, Jackson.”

“No. I think he worked it out though? He always… uh, brings it up in arguments.” He shrugs, “I dunno why though.”

Jooheon stops, and then he’s slapping Jackson on the arm, so quickly he doesn’t have time to block it. His teeth are gritted, and his legs are jiggling restlessly under the table when he finally works out, “You don’t know  _ why?  _ If he thinks you have feelings for someone else then of course he’ll bring it up in arguments! For fuck’s - who? Who is it that means so much to you that you’re fucking up the best thing you’ve got?”

Jackson shrugs again, shame colouring his face, prickling his chest and his shoulders and everywhere else in his body. This, this he doesn’t want to say. He’d spent their whole friendship thinking it would take hanging, drawing and quartering to drag out even half of what he feels, yet when it comes down to it, the only thing it takes is Jooheon asking.

“Tell me. Who is it?”

“S’you, Jooheonie.” He laughs nervously, finally flicking the grain of sugar off the table and onto the tile below, “Who else would it be?”

 

Jackson clears out Namjoon from his life. He deletes his number, in case he’s tempted to text, picks up everything that reminds him and puts it in a box. The pillow Namjoon had spilt coffee on the first time he came over. The hoodie he always said he’d forgotten to take home, but Jackson could tell it was because he knew Jackson liked to wear it. A few scraps of paper with lyrics scribbled on. A phone charger that doesn’t match his phone.

He packs it all up and seals the box. If Namjoon wants to come and get it, that’s fine. If he doesn’t, then Jackson can hold onto it a little while longer.

Guilt festers under his skin, digs into his bones and spreads ugly black tendrils through them. Namjoon deserved better. He’d always deserved better, and Jackson knows that, Jooheon realised soon enough, and Namjoon knew it when he broke up with him.

He curls up on the floor of his shower, head on the slick tile and lets the water wash away every last trace. He scrubs, first with his hands and nails, and when his skin is raw and red, he takes the soap and presses it everywhere it hurts. The water turns a little bit pink then, but he doesn’t mind. Namjoon always liked pink.

Looked beautiful in that baby pink silk button up with the ribbon around the neck. The one he was shy about wearing, but wore anyway, because Jackson made sure he knew he was gorgeous in it.

 

“This has been nice.” Namjoon grins, that one that makes his dimples dig into his cheeks like invisible fingertips in his skin, and wraps his arm around Jackson’s shoulders. “A good first date, I think.”

When Jackson looks at Namjoon, he sees all the possibilities in the world floating just on top of his head. He sees a wedding, Namjoon standing by the altar in a fitted black suit, tears in his eyes. He sees red tearstained cheeks and hearts fracturing. He sees them, wrinkled skin and tired eyes, hands held between them between two old wooden rockers like the one his grandmother once had. He sees Namjoon walking out his door without looking back, mouth pursed into a thin line.

He sees every single one of their possibilities. He sees what they could become, or what they could make for themselves. He sees it all, takes it in with his eyes wide open.

 

Someone knocks on Jackson’s door and he startles before walking over to crack it open. Namjoon stands on the other side wearing that pink shirt he loves so much, with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and a single red tulip tucked behind his ear.


End file.
